Things To Do Instead of Crying
by JDPhoenix
Summary: Ward's looking at her like she's a bomb he has no hope of diffusing.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

AN: Takes place just after T.R.A.C.K.S.

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><p>Skye and the surgical team disappear through the double doors, leaving Jemma feeling empty. She's done all she can; Skye's life is in far more capable hands than hers now. The thought should be heartening at best and a cold statement of fact at worst but the reality is it starts an all too familiar prickling sensation behind her eyes.<p>

"I- I have to-" She stumbles away from the team before finishing the statement. She doubts any of them are terribly concerned with where she's disappearing to.

The bathroom is cold and sterile as the rest of the hospital and blessedly empty. Jemma locks herself in a stall and is in tears again before she's even finished undoing her pants. It's highly unsanitary but she finds herself leaning against the flimsy wall, her face buried in a handful of toilet tissue.

She's lucky, she thinks, that no one else has come in yet to hear her sobbing. It's so wholly unfair that she should be lucky when Skye wasn't at all, that a new wave of tears hits her. She was stupid, so utterly stupid to want to go into the field. How could she want this? A life where she watches her friends and colleagues being hurt or … or …

She refuses to complete the thought. _No one_ on their team is going to be doing that unspeakable thing. It is _not allowed_.

Determination carries her from the stall and a splash of cold water at the sink is enough of a shock to fight back any lingering tears. She looks like hell but that's to be expected. As things are now she could get in a full night's sleep and a long, hot bath and still come out looking terrible simply for worrying. The important thing is she's stopped crying. Now the only thing left to do is to find the team and wait. The surgery will likely take hours yet and the thought of all that time leaves a hollowness in her belly that's worse than the one left when she handed off Skye's care to the doctors here.

She grabs the door handle and stumbles a little at how heavy it is. The extra weight lifts off almost immediately and she just catches sight of a shoulder pulling away from the doorway, allowing her to exit.

"Oh, _Ward_," she says as she steps out. Sure enough he's there, still leaning against the wall just outside with arms crossed and looking like some sort of gargoyle protecting the ladies' room entrance. Now she knows why no one came in while she was crying her eyes out.

He shrugs off her silent accusation as if to say it was nothing. "Just watching your back, that's all," he says, his voice rough with grief.

She can see his attention split between a pair of doctors conversing at the end of the hall and a nurse who gives him a pointed look as she heads into the bathroom behind Jemma's back. They're in the midst of a secure SHIELD facility and he still watches for threats. Was he like this at the Hub? Or is this behavior the result of the last few hours?

"Bollocks," she mutters.

His eyes are instantly on her but she waves off his concern. She's only crying again.

"I thought I was done." She wipes at her eyes. When that only invites a new downpour, she reaches for the door.

Ward catches her arm to stop her, giving her a firm shake of his head.

"I'm certain SHIELD checked her thoroughly before allowing her to work here," she says, trying to adopt a light tone. It comes out sounding rather desperate even to her own ears. Even Ward can't hold back his grimace but he doesn't let her go. Instead he tugs her across the hall, into one of the patient rooms.

The curtains are open, letting in cheery, natural light that is so at odds with the hallway they just came from as to be jarring. The overlarge hospital bed is, thankfully, empty and made, waiting for its next occupant.

"I'm fine," Jemma says. "Really I am." But she's thinking about the bed and wondering if it will soon be Skye's or if she'll even have need of one at all.

She falls back against the wall and Ward's looking at her like she's a bomb he has no hope of diffusing. She closes her eyes.

"I just need a moment," she sighs. Her voice comes out tight and pained but it can't be helped. At least she's not really crying this time. Given a few moments she'll have herself centered and be ready to find the others.

Gentle, uncertain fingers pull her shoulders from the wall and before she quite has a grasp on what's happening, she's in Ward's arms. He's almost the opposite of Fitz, whose arms were tight but soft around her, who broke just as she broke and needed to be held just as she did by the end. Ward is stiff like a marionette. His hands make some attempt at guiding her closer to him while his elbows are as far from her as possible. Skye would laugh if she could see them now.

Jemma is _not_ going to cry again. It occurs to her that the only way to banish the vision of a laughing Skye is to end the awkwardness. It also occurs to her that Ward is having just as terrible a time as she is, given his behavior.

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him closer. When it comes to comforting a crying woman, Ward may be as hopeless as the rest of his gender (with the notable exception of Fitz), but Jemma has always had quite the knack for hugging. She is strong in her stance, steady enough to support him even as her arms are soft around him. He stiffens at first but then the hesitation melts away and he with it. He clings to her, shaking and burying his face in her neck.

"Shh, shh," she soothes. She doesn't offer empty platitudes about it all coming out right because they will both know those are lies. She only holds on as long as he needs. It must be terribly uncomfortable for him, tall as he is, to be curled around her like this. She doesn't imagine he will allow it to go on more than a minute or two but it is two minutes he is in desperate need of.

He doesn't cry but then she doesn't expect him to. It is one thing to accept a momentary offer of release, it is another entirely to completely break down, especially for a specialist.

She rubs a hand along his back, keeping her touch light. She knows he jumped from a train today. His shaking subsides quickly. A slow, ragged sigh falls out of him. She thinks he is pulling away but it's only the angle of his head that's changing. As the sigh tapers off, his lips press to the base of her throat. She stiffens and he instantly lifts himself off of her.

"Sorry," he says, his voice heavy the way it was when she had to sedate him to treat his bullet wound after Coulson was taken.

Their arms are still around each other - barely - his sliding away from her back and hers not even wrapping all the way around his neck anymore now that he's standing. Maybe it's pity, maybe it's stress, maybe it's just a product of her desperate need to do something, _anything_ in this moment. Regardless of the reason, she grips Ward's shoulders and pulls. He's stronger than her so she ends up on her tip toes more than he bends but the end result is a kiss. He needs no further encouragement. His arms tighten around her once more and he pulls her up against his chest.

She's never kissed like this before, with her legs left to dangle because the man was too tall and too strong. It's just started to cause a pain in her abdomen when the backs of her legs brush against something soft and he's setting her down. The bed. How fortuitous, she thinks and then she's pulling at his shirt just as he pulls at hers.

After, she insists on remaking the bed and he actually laughs. The sound is too small and too short, even for him, and her answering smile is much the same, but they're each lighter than they were before. It's enough for now.


End file.
